


Bindings

by jihui_and_knots



Series: Wranduin Kink Series [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Amputee, Canon Disabled Character, Chronic Pain, Cis Anduin, Disabled Anduin Wrynn, Frottage, Gags, Grinding, Hogtie, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial (mentioned), Porn With Plot, Rope Bondage, Swallowing, Trans Male Character, Trans Wrathion, Vibrators, buttplug, hogtied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29929923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jihui_and_knots/pseuds/jihui_and_knots
Summary: Wrathion learns how to tie knots.
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Wranduin Kink Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2201169
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Bindings

**Author's Note:**

> **Kissing** / **Bondage** / ~~Temperature Play~~
> 
> A very warm thank you to [Laeviss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss) for taking the time to beta read and edit.

In the late evening hours, activity in Stormwind Keep dwindled down as the people within left for their homes or settled into their personal quarters within the great stone halls. The corridors stood in a silent emptiness filled only by the occasional scraping of plate armored footsteps from the evening guard. And for a dragon, disguised in his lithe half-sin'dorei, half-human mortal form and cloaked in a simple stealth spell. A small charcoal-gray traveling bag was slung over one arm, the ruby and gold ornaments invisible to the oil lamp light.

Wrathion’s gilded boots made no sound as he ascended the spiral stairs to reach the most well guarded tower in the Keep which contained the living quarters for the royal family members. Most of the rooms that Wrathion passed in the wing were empty and had been for decades, except the last one. His hearts pounded as he approached the great, ornate oak doors with their large brass handles molded with the faces of lions. Though the absence of guards was not unexpected, it was still a relief regardless.

With the curled toes of his boots standing at the threshold, Wrathion let the spell go, flicking it away like a pesky moth, and rapped his knuckles against the rich wooden door. His ears pricked at the sound of uneven footsteps hurrying across the carpet, then padding across bare stone. A moment later, the handles unlocked and one of the doors cracked open. King Anduin Wrynn stood peering warily through the gap, his pupils shrinking in the stark light spilling from the dragon’s glowing red eyes.

“Your Highness.” The king’s voice matched the tone he used when hearing petitions from the Lion’s Seat, though much quieter as to not echo up the hall, as he stepped aside and opened the door wider, warm candlelight spilling over Wrathion’s boots. “Please, come in.”

Wrathion matched the king’s half-smile and crossed the threshold, taking three long strides into the familiar parlor as the king closed and bolted the doors. The space was intended for work and entertaining official business, containing both the king’s desk, a dining table, and chaise lounges and sofas around a tea table. This late in the evening, with the warmth of white candles and the gnomish electric lamps dimmed, the king’s parlor always had a comforting feeling to its casual privacy. The remnants of the king’s dinner had been taken away; only a glass coffee press and a small plate of pastries remained next to a stack of parchment and a large bottle of opened wine on the small dining table. A generous fire roared in the mantleplace and the tall, wide windows were shut tight against the autumn air, the heavy curtains drawn back to reveal the view of the moonlit gardens and Stormwind Harbor far in the distance. A single pair of closed double-doors at the opposite end of the room separated the parlor from the king’s bedchamber.

When Anduin was satisfied that the doors to the hallway were locked and secure, he turned and smoothly raised a palm to cup Wrathion’s bearded jaw, letting the other hand rest on the dragon’s waist. Wrathion felt a pang in his chest at the familiar human scent as he was pulled toward him for a kiss.

“It’s good to see you,” the king murmured.

“It’s only been half a day,” Wrathion teased before he could stop himself.

Anduin met this with his own game smirk, raising his hand to cup the dragon’s cheek. “It’s good to see you _here_ , where I can touch you whenever and as often as I want.”

He flicked his fingers as he pulled away, still talking over his sloped shoulder as he limped towards a hutch that held crystal glassware and bottles of wine and spirits. “It’s far less frustrating than observing you standing at the other end of a meeting table surrounded by my other advisors.”

The king himself looked as if he hadn’t yet managed to catch his breath from the day. His noble blue coat with the cream-colored lining and rich, golden embellishments was wrinkled and draped over the back of his desk chair, tall leather boots leaning in a heap against the side. His white tunic sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows, the front of his gray waistcoat similarly unfastened and flapping open. Wisps of blond hair had escaped his wilting ponytail which he pushed at without thought as he fetched a second wine glass and carried it over to the small, private dinner table. An open bottle of wine was sitting there and it looked like Anduin was already at least one glass into it.

“Forgive me,” Anduin said, abruptly pulling the mouth of the bottle back, his blue-gray eyes flickering to where Wrathion was making a slower approach to join him besides the table. “I forgot to ask what you would even _like_ to drink.”

Wrathion smirked again, pleased at the blush he saw working its way down the front of Anduin’s collarbone and cheeks. “I’m certain that a bottle of wine good enough for the King of Stormwind will be adequate enough for my own enjoyment.”

Anduin laughed, but he resumed pouring, his ears glowing bright red. “Light, help me.”

Something about the king did seem off as he passed the glass into Wrathion’s hand, blue-gray eyes cast down beneath his blond eyelashes. Anduin was used to entertaining under far more stressful circumstances, from churlish Gilnean refugees to duplicitous Horde ambassadors; it was unlike him to neglect common courtesy.

“Come, let’s sit down,” Anduin suggested, picking up the plate of pastries with his own refilled wine glass and gesturing with his chin towards the sofas arranged around a tea table before the fire.

Wrathion followed, carrying the traveling bag, and took a seat next to the king in the chaise lounge. He set the traveling bag down between them, noticing how Anduin’s eyes lingered on the ruby stones sewn near the flap. The king took a thick swig from his glass, not making eye contact. Instead, his intense, gray-blue gaze fixated on the small logs crackling in the fireplace, with his elbows resting on his knees and feet flat on the floor, wine glass dangling between both hands.

“How are your quarters suiting you?” the king asked, quietly, swirling the dark red drink.

Wrathion laughed as he considered, his own gaze flickering to his claws as he turned the glass between his palms. “I find it most difficult to complain about having a dry, secure roof over one’s head...but I will admit the chamber is extraordinarily comfortable, Your Majesty.”

Anduin nodded, once again reaching up to tuck a wayward strand behind his ear.

“If anything isn’t to your liking, you know you have only to ask,” he said, giving up as the strands fell right back over his shoulder. With a quick tug he removed the leather cord that kept his ponytail secure and let all of it fall down with a whiff of shampoo and his own human scent that sent a roil through Wrathion’s gut.

As the silence stretched, Wrathion drank his wine and watched Anduin continue to card his fingers through the curtain of his soft hair, though no amount of combing would relax the bend in the strands from their day spent tied back. The dragon’s mortal tongue pressed against the ridges along the roof of his mouth as he attempted to puzzle out some kind of clever, inviting sentence to say that would dissipate the tension between them and loosen the king’s clenched jaw.

Wrathion at last turned to one side, tucking his leg on top of the lounge beneath him as he leaned into his hand, propping his elbow against the back. His own dense, dark-brown curls brushed back across his bare bare wrist. His mortal chest was warm from the draconic heat stirred by his mounting nerves and the sensation of the mage-brewed drink burning on its way down.

“I hope you won’t find me too bold when I say that you do look quite regal this evening, Your Majesty,” the dragon said, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks even as something akin to an easy smirk found its way to his mouth before he took a long drink.

Anduin chuckled, turning his chin so that his hair now hid his expression from Wrathion’s view and most of his face, except for the tip of his nose as he spoke. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m being rather a poor host this evening.”

"Have you changed your mind?" Wrathion asked, raising a dark brow.

Anduin took another generous drink, shaking his head. "No."

“I’m glad to hear it." Wrathion reached out to rest his warm hand on the king's left knee as he leaned forward in an attempt to catch his eye. "Though, you should know I would not be disappointed if you did. A night spent drinking and enjoying each other’s company is not a night wasted."

Anduin's posture stuttered at the touch, as if it had sent a shiver running down his leg. “Let’s begin, then.”

This, at last, was what he had needed, Wrathion realized, as he turned and set his glass down on the tea table.

"Would you care to see what I've brought?"

Anduin nodded and the dragon opened his knapsack and laid out several coils of hemp rope in an even row across the tea table. The king's eyes snapped into focus, almost as if he couldn't be sure if they were real. After a moment, he reached out and took one, turning it into his hands. He ran the calloused pad of his thumb across the twisted fibers and Wrathion’s keen ears picked up an audible, dry swallow.

Wrathion reached for his wine glass. He tipped back his head and drained the last of it, setting the empty glass back down with a little more force than he’d intended, before clearing his own throat. His mind was racing and he realized that for all of how meticulous and thorough he’d been in his research, he hadn’t given much thought to exactly how to start.

Before he could express this concern out loud, he was startled to find Anduin’s direct gaze almost hungry. He had both of his wide hands wrapped tightly around the hank of rope, squeezing. “How should we start?”

Wrathion caught a nervous laugh before it could exit his throat, exhaling a faint wisp of smoke through his nostrils instead, and met the king’s gaze. “I suppose before we do anything else, you should first undress and make yourself comfortable on the rug.”

Anduin’s flush deepend and a small smile crossed his mouth as his gaze softened and he bowed his head. He set the hank of rope back with the rest and pushed himself into a more upright sitting position. He removed then draped his waistcoat across the armrest of the chaise and his fingers traveled to the front of his tunic, loosening the strings at his collar. Wrathion’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Anduin shrug his shoulders and pull the garment off, revealing coils of sword-hardened muscle beneath brutal tracks of scars across his torso and arms that matched the smaller ones on his hands. He folded the tunic and also laid it down with care over the waistcoat.

A small zipper, hidden at the seam of Anduin’s right pant leg, parted to reveal the bronze and silver metal of a gnomish engineered leg and knee, the remainder of his right thigh tucked into a hard molded socket that went up to his hip. With some maneuvering, Anduin rolled off the breeches, leaving him in only his smallclothes.

The king hesitated, his gaze flickering upward in a rare moment of unease. “Ah, forgive me, one moment. I’ll be right back.”

With a nervous glance towards the dark, uncovered windows, Anduin limped across the royal parlor and disappeared into the shadow of the great bedchamber. Wrathion took the opportunity to push the tea table to the side to make space on the woven rug, careful not to upset the wine bottle or the pastries. He kicked off his boots and removed his outer jacket, laying it across Anduin’s neat pile of garments on the armrest. A dagger with an ornate handle was placed within easy reach next to their glasses. As the dragon busied himself with rolling up his sleeves, he sank back down on the couch, letting his bare toes curl into the plush, ornamental weave of the rug.

Anduin soon returned, carrying a pair of crutches, which he set down on the floor next to the sofa. He then removed his prosthesis, setting the device down on top of the crutches and rolling off the rubber sock that covered his thigh. With a small sigh and a quick prayer, he ran his hand across the limb and let the light seep from his palm into the slightly bruised skin, raw and red from the day’s strain. When he finished, he let his hands fall into his lap and turned to give a patient glance towards the dragon, as if he were waiting for some gesture to indicate approval…or…

“On the floor, please, Your Majesty,” Wrathion instructed, his voice less commanding than he’d intended and more like he’d given a nonchalant suggestion over the war table.

It was the subtle gestures that Wrathion appreciated when he was alone with the king, catching the rare ways the king’s manner dropped in ways that it never would in the public areas of the Keep. The shy way Anduin tucked his chin towards his chest as he eased himself from the lounge and onto the rug. The hunch of his shoulders, muscles roiling beneath the scarred skin, scooting so that he was seated in front of Wrathion’s splayed legs. 

Anduin leaned forward and lay two kisses on the dragon’s knee through the pant leg, his warm blue gaze flicking up from beneath blond eyelashes. “Your nerves are showing, Prince Wrathion.”

Wrathion huffed, a thin wisp of black smoke curling from his nostrils. “ _My_ nerves are showing?”

Anduin smiled, lifting a brow as he ran his hands up and down the warm calf. “I’m a little nervous, I suppose. But, I trust you. Besides, you’re a rogue, I can’t have been the first mortal that you’ve tied up.”

“No, only the first one that I feel very fond of.” Wrathion leaned forward, curling his fingers so that the black claws pressed into his palms, and ran his knuckles down Anduin’s jaw.

“Well, that’s very good for me, then,” Anduin murmured, leaning into the touch. “What do you need me to do?”

Wrathion considered as he felt the coolness of the human’s skin against the bone of his hand. “Turn around, my dear. And place your wrists behind your back.”

A smile caught on the corner of Anduin’s mouth just before it disappeared as he complied with Wrathion’s request. A breath deepend as he raised his wrists, stacking them on top of each other at the small of his back. His golden hair caught the glow from the fire where it fell over his broad shoulders. It was Wrathion’s turn to slide onto the floor, pulling himself close so that he was sitting on his heels with Anduin's hips between his knees. 

The dragon selected the closest length of rope and unwound it, finding the place where the rope was folded just about in half. He took the end of the loop and slipped it around the king's wrists. The rope was wrapped a couple more times around and then between Anduin's wrists, tying a loose knot. Wrathion slid his claw between the coils of rope, ensuring there was just so much space between the fiber and Anduin's skin.

"Can you get out of that?" Wrathion asked, lightly resting his hand on Anduin's elbow.

The hands moved, trying to twist free. They remained where they were.

"No," Anduin's voice came forth, almost a grunt.

Wrathion tightened the knot.

The end of the rope was brought up to wrap around Anduin's upper arms, pinning them close to his torso with a cinch that would keep them locked in place. If Anduin tried to separate his wrists again, he would be stopped first by the resistance there. Wrathion secured the ends in the middle of Anduin's back and watched the king take a breath, the rope biting into his arms as his ribs expanded to take the air. Warm hands fell on the king's tense shoulders as Wrathion leaned over, his draconic hearts fluttering as he felt Anduin’s cold bound hands press into his stomach.

"How does this feel?" Wrathion asked softly in Anduin's ear.

"...fine."

Unsure, Wrathion shifted so that he was sitting in front of Anduin and could get a better look. What he found was that Anduin's eyes had gone glassy, partially from the alcohol but mostly from what Wrathion recognized as a deep feeling of arousal. His face had softened into a strange, vulnerable expression that was akin to one Wrathion usually was only privy to when the king was on the verge of orgasm. A tell-tale bulge had also risen. When Wrathion laid a hand there, he found that Anduin was amazingly hard.

Once he recovered from his surprise, a half-smile crossed Wrathion’s face from the awe as he let the weight of his hand settle. He was rewarded by a small pulse as the king’s cock swelled for a brief moment. "Oh, you do enjoy this, don't you?"

The way the king demurely lowered his gaze and shrugged against the rope bindings was enough on its own to send a pulse of arousal building between the dragon's own legs. Then, as the blush deepend across Anduin’s face and chest, he quietly uttered the word "yes" and tilted his hips forward, just enough to press his bulge into Wrathion's palm, chasing some release to the tension pooling there.

Wrathion was surprised by how much he enjoyed hearing the desperate hitch in Anduin's breath as he removed his hand. The dragon himself was growing damp.

"You'll have to be patient,” Wrathion pretended to chide, raising a brow as he reached for another hank of rope. “I'm not quite through with you yet."

Though Anduin struggled to maintain his composure, the light in his eyes was unmistakable and a short, happy laugh burst from his throat when Wrathion gently pressed him backwards and he fell onto his back on the rug. The groan of pain that followed was almost too acute, though, as the king shifted to adjust his position on the floor to the best of his ability with his hands and arms bound to his back.

“Perhaps I should lay down a pillow or two,” Wrathion mused, cupping his hand around the king’s left ankle, which had already grown cold in the absence of his pants.

“No, that’s not necessary.” Anduin’s blush deepend as he writhed again over his pinned hands and the twitch in his bulge did not go unnoticed. “I want to feel...uncomfortable.”

Wrathion’s brows shot upwards for a brief moment, but he quickly recovered and settled into a smirk as he took Anduin’s ankle and pulled it into his lap. He wrapped the rope around and secured it with a knot, then bent the king’s knee so that his heel was sitting close to his hip. Another few wraps had secured the rope cuff around Anduin's ankle to his thigh. Prone as he was, a mere finger was enough now to keep Anduin's knee in place, preventing him from hiding the way his growing cock pressed up against the seam of his undergarment. For a brief moment, he was struck by the unbidden thought of how the scene would have looked to the prying eyes of a passing Stormwind guard.

He was pulled back to reality by a small, needy whimper in the back of the king’s throat as he stretched to the best of his ability, his hips rising off the floor.

Wrathion pulled Anduin towards him and flipped the human over so that the king lay on his stomach, hips drawn across the dragon’s warm lap. He felt Anduin’s stiff erection pressing into his thigh, twitching as it throbbed with his arousal. Anduin was making small, distressed sounds as he struggled, making a familiar evasion to try and alleviate the pressure, to hide it. Wrathion placed one hand on the small of the king’s back, taking his chin gently but firmly between his fingers and tipping his face upward.

“Look at you, Your Majesty,” Wrathion murmured, running his fingers across the trace amount of stubble, cupping the king’s warm, stiff cock through the front of his underclothes. “Aren’t you doing so well.”

Anduin’s blond bangs fell in messy tendrils across his flushed face as he began to grind into Wrathion’s warm, open palm, murmuring and struggling in vain to free his wrists. A pleased noise escaped him as Wrathion’s other hand began to stroke his rear thoughtfully. The dragon ran a claw down the seam of the king’s underwear, between the curve of his firm cheeks.

“I know we didn’t discuss this,” Wrathion said, slowly, as his claw dipped lower, Anduin welcoming the touch with enthusiasm. “But, would you like me to use your device?”

Anduin’s cock leapt against Wrathion’s thigh and the dragon heard the king release a groan, burying his face into the rug to stifle the sound.

“Yes,” came the breathy reply as Anduin’s wrists strained against the unyielding knotted rope. “Yes...I… _very_ much.”

The sound of the High King of Stormwind helpless and losing his grip on his own words as he was bent over the dragon’s lap made a hot ripple of pleasure coil in Wrathion’s groin. He fought the urge to reach under Anduin’s stomach and touch himself as he enjoyed the sight of the human bundled up, his rear and ankle helpless and hoisted in the air. The thought of adding to Anduin’s predicament, to have him not only tied but _writhing_ as one of his arcane plugs relentlessly vibrated inside of him, only made him wetter. Wrathion tipped Anduin back onto the rug and rose to his feet, venturing into the bedchamber. 

The dragon opened the small, narrow drawer in the wooden nightstand beside the bed and withdrew a thick, cone-shaped device made of some kind of stainless steel metal with a flared base and a small glowing rune at the end. It was the kind of thing one could easily find in the streets of Dalaran, which Anduin had purchased while in disguise on a diplomatic trip. Wrathion took with him a small glass vial of oil and returned to the parlor to find Anduin breathless and curled into a fetal position on the floor, stricken with a look of utter desperation as he struggled to shake his hair from his face and kick his bare foot.

"My poor king," Wrathion teased as he knelt down again. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

Anduin stifled a whimper but raised his narrow hips willingly to help Wrathion in tugging his smallclothes down, exposing him to the open air. He began to make small, soft moans as the dragon dipped his oiled finger into him, working one finger up to the knuckle, then two. Wrathion warmed the plug with the body heat from his palm and slicked it with more oil, pressing the tip against the loosened hole where his fingers had just been, then pushed. Anduin’s throat opened into a pleased moan as the plug settled into him. He nuzzled his face into the carpet, fingers clenching into fists as he attempted to grind his erection to orgasm against the floor. 

Wrathion placed a firm hand on Anduin’s backside, feeling a shudder run between his legs as the king was forced to stop. “I believe you’re still moving too much, Your Majesty.” 

“...am I?” Anduin murmured, almost choking on the words.

The dragon took the dangling rope at the priest's ankle and pulled it in so that Anduin's ankle was anchored behind his back, securing him in a taut hogtie.

"Is this too much?" Wrathion asked, pressing his hand to the priest's back.

Anduin opened his mouth, but coherent words failed to come out, and he instead shook his head. One flushed cheek was resting on the finely embroidered carpet and his eyes were unfocused on the space between the sofa and the floor. He looked soft and vulnerable in a way Wrathion had never quite seen before, on his stomach with his palms and the sole of his foot pinned and exposed, unable to do anything but test the hold of the ropes before sinking deeper into the feeling of being held there. 

Wrathion secured the last knot and sat on his knees so that he could undo the red sash around his waist. His fingers curled through Anduin's hair and he forced the king to lift his chin so that he could loop the belt over the front of the man's face, pulling it taut against his mouth. 

"Open."

Anduin obliged. Wrathion slid the cloth between the king’s teeth, wrapping it around twice and securing it with a tight knot behind his head. He relished the muffled string of complaints that came forth, Anduin's gray-blue eyes rolling up to stare at him with a look that was somewhere between pleading and darkly lustful. Wrathion returned this with a tender smile and sat back to admire what he had done. The king was now more or less completely debilitated and there was nothing left to do but lean back to watch him struggle.

But not before Wrathion leaned forward to brush his finger against the base of the plug, activating the rune. The device began to buzz and vibrate. Anduin let out a strangled moan and his entire body arched against the bindings that held him in place, preventing him from doing anything about his situation.

Wrathion let his shoulders rest against the edge of the sofa, one hand slipping down the front of his pants, fingers finding their way to dip into his slit, where he discovered that he had long transitioned from merely a wet excitement to absolute soaking. He found his cock swollen and throbbing to the touch, each stuttered movement in the king's muscles or muffled moan of pleasure sending a fresh wave deep into him that he deepened with strokes from his slick fingers. The king’s tied body shifted within the ropes that held him, the firelight reflecting off the rough curves of his scar-torn skin, bucking his hips as best as he could into the carpet. Wrathion had to admit, with a sense of wonder, that all things considered, this was perhaps the least amount of effort either of them had expended in recent memory to get both of them this worked up.

After several minutes, the king’s body went still, having seemingly exerted his energy. Anduin turned his cheek to watch Wrathion with hungry eyes, brows knitted as he breathed heavily through the belt in his mouth and watched the dragon stroke himself. Wrathion saw the king’s fingers curling and uncurling in his palms as his wrists struggled against the binds. Withdrawing his hand from his pants, the dragon locked eyes with the king, reached over, and stuck one wet finger under the gag and into Anduin's mouth.

"You were so worried, weren't you," Wrathion said, refusing to lessen his gaze as he saw Anduin's flicker in embarrassment. "That I wouldn't enjoy this."

He relished the sensation of a rough tongue running over the pad of his finger as Anduin tried to suck. A wanting noise escaped the king’s throat as the dragon withdrew.

"You struggle so handsomely, Your Majesty," Wrathion said, stroking Anduin's chin. "You should consider yourself lucky if I ever let you out of that."

Anduin's face flushed and he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his smile by burying his face into Wrathion's palm.

Wrathion reclined, again, his hand returning to massage his cock with renewed vigor. Anduin looked out of his mind with desperation as he watched. 

“Can you reach me?” Wrathion heard himself asked as he worked.

A strangled grunt tore from Anduin’s throat as he shifted, inching himself closer. His shoulders heaved as he struggled to move, holding back pained whimpers. Wrathion slid forward, dragging a pillow with him to place behind his hips. Anduin murmured and turned his head, pressing his gagged lips to the inside of Wrathion’s thigh, doing his best to lay a string of open kisses along the dragon’s leg. He continued to creep forward in slight shifting motions, clearly enjoying the way it emphasized the stiffness of the device inside of him, until his mouth was pressed against where Wrathion’s fingers were rubbing. He added his bound mouth to the pressure, burying his face between the dragon’s legs.

Something about this almost desperate gesture was enough to tip Wrathion over the edge, his first orgasm rising up like a fountain under his hand. The dragon’s own mouth parted as he gasped and rocked, riding the sudden wave as it surged through him, harder and harder as Anduin continued to nuzzle the inside of his thigh, wisps of soft blond hair tickling the skin. It felt, like it usually did, as if he could lay in the pure euphoria of it forever, but inevitably it ebbed, leaving the dragon wet and still throbbing.

Panting, thighs trembling, Wrathion met the king’s gaze to find him staring back up in reverent adoration. Wrathion leaned forward and cupped his hands around Anduin’s head, pressing their foreheads together as he sank into the warm satisfaction that curled through his limbs.

“Oh, Anduin,” Wrathion’s voice came forth almost as he ran his fingers through Anduin’s hair. “Look at you.”

Anduin mumbled a reply through the gag, a very un-kingly whine, as Wrathion laid a kiss on his brow.

"What was that?"

Again, a muffled string of words that were impossible to distinguish. Wrathion let a small chuckle slip forth with a curl of smoke from his nostrils, before he reached over and tugged the belt from Anduin's mouth.

"Tell me what you want, my dear."

Anduin made an attempt to lick the drool from his lips, his flushed face still cradled in Wrathion’s palms. His voice came low and slurred, as if he were still speaking through something in his mouth. "I..."

Wrathion waited, patiently, running his thumbs across the human’s burning cheeks, red with shame and excitement. A tremor tore down the king’s bound body.

"I want...you...to touch me."

Wrathion ran his fingers across Anduin’s brow, brushing back his bangs. "Touch you where?"

"Touch me." Anduin’s body buckled as he attempted to lift his hips. "Light, touch my c-cock, _please_ , Wrathion."

The Black Prince didn't need to be told twice. He slid down across the carpet so that his long body lay parallel to the king’s, tipping the human so that he was also lying on his side, his hands and foot pulled behind him. Anduin’s cock twitched in the open air, swollen firm with arousal and moving slightly with the pulses of his building orgasm. Wrathion wrapped his hand around it and slid his finger over the tip, smearing the precum that had collected there. 

“Like this, Your Majesty?” Wrathion asked, his voice low and soft.

Anduin groaned, thickly, his head tipped back and golden hair spilling over his shoulders. The dragon continued to move his hand up and down the velvety shaft, palm still somewhat slick with his own cum, pressing his hips up against the king’s prone body and grinding against his restrained thigh. The next sound that burst forth from Anduin's mouth was so loud that Wrathion cast a quick glance towards the parlor doors, wondering if he should have left the gag in, hoping that the walls of Stormwind Keep were as thick as they'd ever been.

"Yes," Anduin groaned. "Light, yes, please, don't stop."

Wrathion obliged, somewhat transfixed by the movements that each thrust sent crashing through Anduin's restrained body. He contemplated letting this go on, teasing and stroking just enough to bring the king to the verge of orgasm before stopping. He pictured bringing him there and back over and over again in the palm of one hand while he touched himself with the other, giving himself the pleasure he was denying Anduin. He wondered if Anduin would be disappointed if it ended too early, at the same time also worried about if and when Anduin would slip from blissful frustration into genuine emotional pain if he were denied release.

"Wrathion," the sound of his name snapped him back into focus. He recognized the tone layered over the king’s voice. "Wrathion, I'm going to..."

The dragon ducked his head and wrapped the wet heat of his mouth around the king's cock. He fell in sync with each thrust, feeling the tip swell hard against the roof of his mouth. Anduin went completely silent and a moment later the thrusts deepened. Wrathion tasted warm, salty cum spilling forth onto the back of his tongue. He lapped it up, continuing to lick and suck until Anduin was limp and gasping.

Wrathion sat up, running his thumb over his lips and his beard as he looked down at the bound king from under his hooded eyelids. A wave of uncertainty passed over him as the rush of lust abated and he was left watching Anduin's chest rise and fall with each labored breath. The king’s eyelids fluttered. His limbs trembled with small shivers. His continued silence only added to Wrathion's sense of unease. Anduin was either struggling to regain composure or process what they had done, most likely a combination of both. Wrathion reached over to undo the knot that held the foot in the hogtie.

"No, wait," Anduin's voice stopped Wrathion's claws mid-tug on the first strand. "I'm not ready."

Wrathion arched a quizzical brow. Anduin tipped his head to look up at him from behind the tousled bangs that had fallen over his face.

"Please," he begged. “...I don’t want it to be over. Let me lie like this a little while longer.”

Wrathion ran a hand over the back of Anduin’s head, tucking his blond hair behind his ear. “I’m not certain that’s a good idea.”

A weak but determined smirk crossed the king’s face.

“I’ll be fine. I promise.” He shifted and stretched, curling his fingers and his toes. “Besides, wouldn’t it be a shame to waste your skilled handiwork?” 

Wrathion hummed and returned his own smirk, reaching to bring the wine and the remnants of the pastries down to the floor. He stretched out his legs and leaned back against the sofa again, letting his heels rest on Anduin’s shoulders as the king laughed in protest.

* * *

Some time later, Wrathion opened the windows in the king’s bathroom to release the steam building up in the room. Cool, salt-laced air hit his face as the curtains lifted in the breeze. The moon hung low over the harbor in the distance. Trails of lamp lights were going dark one-by-one as the lamp keeper made their way through the city.

Anduin had sunk deep into his massive clawfoot bathtub, only his blue eyes peering out across the murky water with a glazed expression. Wrathion returned to step inside and submerge himself in the lukewarm, amber-scented water, letting his legs entangle with the king’s, careful not to kick or scratch against the amputated end of his right one. With a murmur and a brief spark of draconic energy, the temperature of the bathwater shot up, earning a relieved moan from Anduin as he raised his head to take a breath at last.

“Oh, that feels good,” the king groaned as fresh steam began to waft into the air around him.

Anduin pushed himself up so that he could reach over the side of the tub. His movements were stiff and stilted, chest and arms covered with bands of red indented marks from where the ropes had pressed into his skin. His fingers found purchase on a potion vial sitting on a small brass stand which held shampoo bottles and a lush green house plant. He uncorked it and took a long drink of the red, viscous liquid within.

As he replaced the vial, he narrowed his gaze towards the dragon. “Don’t say it.”

Wrathion just returned a secretive smile, letting his own shoulders rest back against one of the king’s soft, plush towels that he’d folded at one end of the bathtub. “Say what?” 

Under the water, Anduin found one of Wrathion’s feet and lifted it into his lap and began to massage. “Say ‘I told you so.’”

Wrathion sighed, sinking into the hot water, enjoying the comfort of Anduin’s attentive hands in combination with the fullness from the dessert and wine and the heavy blanket of peace and satisfaction. With the heat from the bath and a good night’s sleep, hopefully Anduin wouldn’t be sitting so stiffly in the lion throne the next day and he wouldn’t be tempted to tease.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”


End file.
